


A Lonely Place of Living

by dotfic



Category: Batman Beyond
Genre: Deathfic, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-23
Updated: 2007-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another soldier falls. Batman and Robin cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lonely Place of Living

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a coda of sorts to If You're Lucky and was born from an observation made by both mtgat and 90scartoonman. Also, I'd like to thank kasuchi for planting the suggestion for the color scheme of Matt's costume in my head.

When they returned from patrol, Bruce stood alone in the cave, leaning on his cane.

He was waiting for them.

Terry climbed down the batwing's exit ladder. He dropped lightly to the floor and walked towards Bruce. Behind him Matt didn't bother with the ladder. Despite Terry's lectures, he chose instead to perch on the edge of the hatch, then executed a forward double-flip, a flicker of blue and black.

He landed perfectly. "Hey, Mr. Wayne. What are you doing down here?"

But Terry knew. He looked at Bruce, and he knew. Something settled heavily in Terry's chest like it would never leave again.

Still, Bruce said it, his hand visibly tightening its grip around the handle of the cane.

"It's Ace."

Matt halted his movements. "What about Ace?" He frowned.

"Just a few hours ago," Bruce said flatly. "He'd been tired all day, slept most of it. I tried to walk him but he didn't want to go out." He paused. "He's gone," he said, voice going rougher, so faintly that it was only because Terry had known him this long that he could even hear it.

The cave suddenly seemed five degrees colder. Even inside the thick armor of his suit, an involuntary shiver ran through Terry and he reached out to grab his brother's shoulder, maybe more for his own benefit than for Matt's.

Masks gave nothing away. Terry felt dampness stinging his eyes, and was glad Bruce couldn't see it, because he'd never cried in front of Bruce before, and didn't want to start now.

Beside him, Matt said nothing, but Terry felt the tension in his shoulder. The mask around Matt's eyes hid quite a lot, but not enough.

Bruce turned away and headed slowly for the stairs. "Help me bury him," he said.

* * *

Dressed in his jeans and a sweater, Matt stared down at the marshmallows floating in his mug of hot chocolate.

"You want anything else?" Terry asked.

That cave of a kitchen always seemed too big to him. Through the tall windows, the sky was starting to lighten to a pre-dawn gray. The kitchen track lighting was stark and bright, deepening the shadows. The pots and pans hanging over the island range turned into mysterious, monstrous shapes.

"No."

"You should go home and go to sleep. I called Mom to let her know what happened, but she'll be worried if you don't show up soon. I'll drop you off."

"Fine." Matt poked at a marshmallow with his finger, but he still didn't drink.

"Just give me a minute."

Terry headed up the wide staircase as the sky grew brighter. The walls here told a thousand stories; he imagined people he could only vaguely picture as their younger selves walking up or down these steps.

He tapped softly on Bruce's door.

"Come in."

The old man hadn't gone to bed. He stood at the window in the dark slacks and sweater he'd worn when they buried Ace, looking out at the dawn.

"I just came to see if you were..." Terry bit back the word _okay._ Of course Bruce wasn't okay. He'd never been okay since Terry'd met him, and he'd just lost a friend.

"He would have liked him," Bruce said abruptly.

Terry was confused. For a heart-stopping second he thought Bruce might have finally slid towards senility.

"Alfred," Bruce continued. "I think he and Ace would have gotten along well."

"Oh," said Terry.

Bruce rarely mentioned his late butler. There was a framed photograph in the hall downstairs of a dapper-looking gentleman whose dignity didn't quite hide the sardonic glint in his eye. Terry knew Bruce had taken a portion of the ashes to England. The remainder had been scattered in the garden of Wayne Manor, all per Alfred Pennyworth's last will and testament.

There was a temporary cairn of stones out on the grounds to mark Ace's grave. It would be replaced by a headstone as soon as Bruce could arrange it. They had talked about what would go on Ace's stone, while Terry and Matt dug.

It would say only two words: _Loyal friend._

Terry had no idea what was on Alfred's stone in England, and he wasn't going to ask.

"Yeah, I bet they probably would," said Terry. _Not like I'd know. Not like you talk about Alfred much_, he didn't say.

But he had a feeling it was true. Dick Grayson mentioned Alfred sometimes, and the way he did made Terry wonder if any of the bats would have survived as long as they had without him.

"Call if you need anything," said Terry.

He knew Bruce wouldn't.

* * *

Matt was waiting at the foot of the steps for him, pale, eyes shadowed. "I'm going to miss him a lot," Matt said as they went outside in the cold morning.

"Me too," said Terry. Ace had been there, right from the beginning. He was having a hard time picturing Bruce without the big black dog at his side.

His little brother paused on the drive, turned, and craned his head back to stare up at the intimidating front facade of the mansion. "He's not letting on. But Mr. Wayne probably feels bad right now, huh?"

"Smart kid."

Matt lowered his head and turned to Terry. "I could come by after classes, maybe. But I'm not sure he'd like me hanging around."

"I'm not sure either. But you should probably do it anyway. Maybe he'll give you crime-fighting pointers. If you ask politely."

"I thought he didn't approve of me being Robin."

"It's not _you_ he doesn't approve of. Just of there _being_ a Robin."

"Why?"

Terry looked up at the house, the way Matt just had.

"Someday, I'll tell you."

~END  


* * *


End file.
